


Knowing Better

by contronym



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:09:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5203553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contronym/pseuds/contronym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between:<br/>book 2 & 3.<br/>thinking & knowing.<br/>secrets & admissions.<br/><br/>between Korra & Asami.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knowing Better

**Author's Note:**

> might be a slight adjustment to # of days between different events when compared to the show, but for the most part this could be a missing scene between all the canon korrasami fluff

Avatar Korra is known for many things.  One of her most notable legacies, perhaps, is that of grand entrances.  
  
Whether it is blowing out a wall in front of the White Lotus at the age of four (much to her parents' chagrin), fending off the entire Republic City police force after pulverizing some triads and Market Street at seventeen (much to the Chief’s displeasure), novelly bending multiple elements during a pro bending match (much to Tenzin's horror), smoking screening an Equalist revelation, barreling through Tarrlok's council office window, sabotaging Amon's Equalist rally by announcing his true identity then thrusting him out of a window into the open sea, foiling the attempted abduction of Unulaaq, crash landing into a Northern Water Tribe encampment, opening not one but two spirit portals for the first time in at least ten thousand years, _leaving_ two spirit a portals open for at least another ten thousand years...the list is seemingly infinite.  
  
At this rate, one would think it hard, if not practically impossible, for the Avatar to keep any secrets.  But I know better.

 

I wouldn't, maybe, if not for Korra's recently developed habit of sneaking up on me.  Not in a horror mover fashion - but still in a way so unlike how she interacts with...anyone else, really.   Not a hint of grandiosity or exhibition.  Just normalcy, if there ever _is_ such a conditional opportunity for the Avatar.  For instance, waiting for me after business negotiations, her arms crossed, leaning casually against the council hall.  Or surprising me in the garage on mornings when meditation “just isn't cutting it." (Which makes me wonder if watching me calibrate engines does cut it, somehow.).    
  
Her favorite though, is perching atop the eave of my front door - an angular, tiled overlook that has an unparalleled view of Republic City.  I relocated to this moderately sized penthouse, rededicating the estate strictly to labor, development, and administration for Future Industries.  I requested the top floor, not for the luxury, but because I (rather naively, I now recognize) wanted to believe that living in suspension would prevent me from ever having underground secrets again.  I am not level with the clouds to exist above anyone, except myself and my own past, running away from a man I will never see again but that still remains omnipresent - in memories, photos, my own reflection.  It is my personal escape, one that allows me the opportunity to live without mirrors or shadows of a childhood or expectant eyes looking back at me.  Up here, I have absolute isolation.

 

That is, until I walk out my front door only to find two water tribe moccasins dangling over the edge of the veranda, legs swinging back and forth slowly.  
  
Initially I am more than confused - mostly because I am not expecting company, and the rest because I am not aware a Water Tribesman had the ability to scale my penthouse roof.  Upon further inspection however, I notice a small burn mark on the left sole and a tiny gash in the right heel of the boots - clear indicators as to the individual controlling the steady sway of the mysterious, dangling limbs.  
  
"...Korra?"  
  
"Oh!  Asami, uh--" I hear the Avatar scuffle, lifting her feet swiftly from sight before turning her body to face me and dropping to the balcony.  Her shoulders are hunched over, cheeks flushed red.  "Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude!  I just..."  
  
I watch her search for the words, her eyes darting back and forth as her mind moves a million miles a minute.  I already know her answer before she mutters, "I just really needed a place to think."  
  
"Are you still worried about the polls?  Your ratings?"  

 We entertained that conversation a few days previous, during which I tried in earnest to reassure the Avatar that popularity contests aren't a valid measure of her abilities, or a testament to her accomplishments.

  
"Yeah, I guess.  And a bunch of other stuff, too."  Her brow furrows as she clenches and unclenches her fists.  "I am still trying to organize my thoughts on everything."

Immediately I regret having probed, feeling my questioning has made her more anxious, or places some unwarranted pressure on the Avatar to reply.   

“I am here if you ever need me, but we don’t have to talk about it."   _You don't have to tell me anything._   "You know you can always reach out to Mako, Bolin, or Tenzin, too."

"I know.  I would like to talk _you_ about it, though, if that's okay.  When I have things a little more figured out."  A deliberate pause.  Arranging more thoughts, I imagine.  

“It's just easier to tell you this stuff..."  She trails off into somewhat of a whisper, eyes slightly downcast before rising to meet mine, "It always has been."

 

So I know that the Avatar has secrets.  And while I may not what they are, I do know that they exist, and that there is an abundance.

The Avatar's emotions are bold and unforgiving, outright refusing to accept subtlety as a venue of expression, but her thoughts are much harder to trace.  She processes the world in a remarkably fast fashion - this is evident in battle and in discussion, as she thinks broadly and swiftly, making split second decisions that have allowed her to save herself, the world, family and friends (and me) countless times.  

Typically I can diagnose a person with ease - decode and recreate their formula of thought, an invaluable business tactic - and yet Korra's mind continues to befuddle and awe me.  Perhaps it's because, even after severance from her past lives, Korra has some trace memory of what it was like to have hundreds of lives and thousands of years of wisdom to recall upon as the Avatar.

  
Or maybe it's because she is just as incredible as I have always believed her to be.

 

Her contemplation is typically motivated by some circumstance of incredible urgency, life and death, balance and chaos.  But now, as she ponders how to build infrastructure around spirit vines, navigating Raiko's insufferability and rumors of new airbenders, she has a little time to dwell on her duties and what she should do next.  
  
And if it makes it easier for her to think - to consider her seventeen years of seclusion from social and political circumstances, her mistakes, her responsibilities, how to keep saving the world and everyone in it - then by all means I will let her swing her feet from my eaves until she achieves some degree of peace.  

 

It becomes an unspoken routine.  I emerge from my home, often just peeking from the door to see if the Avatar has resumed her position atop the eave.  I wordlessly boil water, pouring two cups before sitting upon my front balcony - sometimes with a business contract or some blueprints, occasionally opening the morning paper, though many times with nothing at all, mesmerized by the pendulum effect of Korra's ankles - sipping tea from my cup while hers goes untouched.  
  
The first few times I call out, “Your tea is going to get cold."  But I am aware Korra controls temperature as easily as she controls her own breath.  I envision her knowing smile at the comment though her lips are out of sight as she gazes upon the Republic City skyline, silence perpetuating through the moment.  
  
Eventually, Korra's swinging becomes restless, her left foot shaking faster than her right - almost involuntarily.  A signal.  I know then to deliver the Avatar’s tea, placing the cup gently on top of her boot, waiting for her hand to reach and retrieve it.  Most times I return promptly to my seat, but sometimes her fingers brush mine as she grasps the cup, and my body responds with a certain start at the sensation, and so I slow.  Other times, when I place the cup on the tongue of her boot, she brings her toes up, effectively trapping my hand in place. And so I stand with one hand holding the newspaper and the other lightly gripping her moccasin, even long after she releases me from her vice.  

On rare occasions, she sets her elbow on her knee while bringing her other hand down and leaving it there, trapping mine beneath her fingers.  I always look up to find her chin resting in her palm, her eyes still lost above in a city of thought.  But her fingers drum lightly along the back of my hand, and I like to think that the Avatar is letting me know that, even in her swarm of reflection, I am crossing her mind, too.

 

What is routine is only routine until it's broken, however.  And today, while normal for many others, seems to interrupt what little normalcy the Avatar may have possessed (if possible for an avatar to have it at all).  This realization occurs just this morning when, during my walk to the porch, I find not two water tribe moccasins, but instead black hippocow leathers shined to perfection.  And the feet aren't dangling from the roof - instead, they are suspended midair, toes facing me, several feet from the eaves.  Before I have any time to react, I hear Korra's voice from above, "What do you think you are you doing here?!"

The respondent - a man, clearly struggling to breathe at a normal rate - sputters out, "I came here...to ask you...the same question!"

Korra tuts as I hear the man cough forcibly.  I wonder what kind of bending she's using to hold him afloat before I notice the long, casting shadow connecting his own to the roof.  She's holding him out with her own arm.

"This is a private residence, not a film set!  You and your camera get lost, or else I'll come for you."

A reporter.  I am not unfamiliar with their presence or their persistence, a constant since my childhood, what with being the daughter of an industry tycoon turned revolutionary terrorist. 

"And why exactly...will you be around… _here_ , Avatar Korra?"  He gasps out.  Most likely she has a grip on his collar, making it difficult for him to get out more than a few words at a time.

I take a few steps forward until I’m only a mere few feet away from the scene, yet still shrouded by the overhang.  I expect Korra to drop the trespasser, transfer him to me and my practiced expertise in navigating the press.  But Korra - who has trained herself to identify my foot steps in slippers, garage boots, or office heels so as to anticipate my company - has somehow not noticed my presence at all.

" _Why_ does it matter?!"  She bellows.  "Come on, spit it out!"

 _Because you matter._ I shake my head, feeling foolish for not having foreseen the attention.  Two members of Team Avatar, of which one  _is_ the Avatar, spending inordinate amounts of time together, alone, looking out over Republic City. People are bound to ask questions - wonder if there is reason to be worried about the future of the metropolis.  Curious if there are negotiations behind bending and non-bending alliances.  Confirming whether or not these meetings actually _are_ business related, or are of a more, say, personal nature.

 

"What is your relationship…to Future Industries owner….Asami Sato?!"

As I expected.  I release a large, discontented sigh - certain Korra must know I am here by now.  I inhale, preparing to deliver a practiced, canned response to questions of this variety.  I bring my tongue to the roof of my mouth to start, just as I hear--

 

"I love Asami."

 

She states it so simply, as she does most things, but my breath hitches, my ears registering what just passed through them, and my body is frozen in place beneath the awning.

The man flails helplessly in the air.  "Can I put that...on record?"

"You had better!"

 _Does she really not know that I am_ right here _?  Is she doing this_ because _she knows...?_

"Look, we all know Asami is incredible - she has changed me as an Avatar, helps me come up with solutions, makes me more sensitive to issues I may not see super clearly.  I  do and will alwayscontinue to seek her advice and counsel, especially during trying times for the city such as these."

My heart beats rapidly as admission after admission rolls from the edges of my roof.

"I couldn't ask for a better member of Team Avatar.  She is remarkable and admirable, and continues to impress me and Republic City each day."  Another thoughtful pause.  " _Of course_ I love Asami Sato - I dare anyone that knows her to say that they don’t." 

I am still relieved to find the reporter’s recorder crushed beneath a large decorative garden rock, undoubtedly Korra’s doing, but that doesn't detract from the fact that her responses are impressive - striking a knowledgeable balance between vague and personal.  Enough to satisfy a gossip column reader, yet not enough to provide any true validity to any rumors or claims.

 

_And not enough to deny them, either._

 

"Now that you have your answer, I will remind you one last time to get off this property, unless you’d rather be thrown from it."

A diplomatic (or as diplomatic as Korra can muster) finish.  This isn't a situation that needs saving.  Her responses were strategic and well executed - I can't help but wonder if Korra spent some of the time on my roof, playing out this exact scenario.  I can sense the reporter’s protest, but I watch as the shadow of her outstretched arm swings left - directly over the side of the twenty story building, resulting in his enthusiastic acquiescence.

"Good."  Korra airbends him to the door of the elevator, and I hear him gasp for oxygen when she finally releases his collar.  "Run along, now."

He steps into the elevator without another word.

 

I hear a loud thud on the roof, though her feet remain out of sight.  I feel slightly guilty about the fact that she may still be unaware of my presence, and so I step in front of the awning - a rare moment in which I search for Korra's eyes during her rooftop contemplation.

Her own eyes widen in realization, bright azure spheres boring down at me.  "…How much of that were you here for?"

"Just about all of it, I think."  I offer a gentle smile, hoping to convey, _it’s okay._

 

I don’t have to think about why it is okay.  Each time I accompany Korra as she devises plans for interdimensional peace and political stability, I dedicate some time to self-inquire – _why am_ I _here?_ (Perhaps the more critical question for the reporter to ask, afterall.) 

It only took a few brushes of the Avatar’s hand as she reached for her morning tea for me to figure it out.

 

Not that it's any surprise.  Affection for Korra blooms as readily as a dandebear-lion - seeds spreading with a simple breath, planting themselves on every available surface.  And each time the wind whispers, her love is dispersed again and again.  I witnessed this with Bolin, and (rather painfully) with Mako.  Hell; I watched her win over the bristly police chief, even Lin’s burly exterior broken with motherly concern over the budding new Avatar.  It's addictive and infectious, exposing yourself up to Avatar Korra.  In all reality, this was all just a simple matter of time.

 

She clears her throat hesitantly, her cheeks flushing, revealing far more vulnerability now than she did with the reporter.  "I don't regret anything that I said, but...if you need me to, or want me to retract any of it, I can."

She watches me cautiously, awaiting my response.

I try to reflect on exactly _what_ had been said.  Attempt to recall the slew of compliments that rippled from the Avatar’s lips, but hearing Korra profess to loving me – in whatever context – is particularly distracting.  To the outsider, it may appear casual.  The young, brash, immaturity of the Avatar evident in her lack of restraint and eloquence.

 

But I know better.

 

I like to think she knows that her secrets are safe in my company.  Even if her secret is, in fact, just that.  My company.

"No.  It's fine."  I offer another warm grin, hoping it's enough to say, _Same here._

I think I see her release a breath, but I can’t be sure.

 

"So," I begin again softly, "what brings the Avatar to my roof today?"

I watch her shift uncomfortably before she responds, "The new air benders popping up, they aren't just in Republic City - the Earth Nation, in particular, seems to have reported a large number of them."

I nod as she continues.

"I've been thinking lately that it's probably my duty to find these air benders and try to recruit them into the Air Nation.”

As usual, I am astonished by her ageless insight and wisdom, replying warmly, “You know there is always an airship and crew if you ever decide that's what you need to do."

"And a captain, too?"  I am greeted by a lop-sided grin, the Avatar looking to me hopefully.

"Of course.”   _I wouldn't rather be anywhere else._

Sensing a natural conclusion, I move to retreat back into the penthouse - perhaps finish making tea and grab this mornings' paper.  But I’m interrupted.

  
"Asami?"  
  
I look up to her once more and wait for a response.  
  
"Come sit with me a minute?  I'm not quite ready to get back to Raiko's lunacy just yet."  
  
I can't help but chuckle lightly at Korra's brazenness (over asking for my company or her comment on Raiko, I am not sure), nodding slowly.  "I just need to turn off the stove and fetch the tea."  
  
"Done and done."  
  
My grin splits even wider, looking to Korra bemusedly.  "Fantastic.  While you were at it, did you pour the tea and airbend the cups to the roof already as well?"  
  
"No."  Korra shrugs sheepishly.  "Just you."  
  
_Me?  What does that-_  
  
Before I can complete my internal thought, I feel a gentle push beneath my work boots as my body ascends into the air.  My field of vision changes rapidly, the ground seeming further and further from reality, until my feet land softly on the tiles of my own roof.  I use a moment to take in my surroundings and –-

"Wow.  No wonder you like to sit up here."  
  
Korra scoffs at the comment and opens her mouth as though about to contest, but decides against it and closes her lips together slowly.

I take a seat, leaning back on my hands, joking casually about this being the closest thing I’ve had to a vacation in months.  This elicits a soft chuckle from the Avatar ("You haven't even left your house!") as she throws her hands out behind her as well, her right palm landing over my left hand.  Instead of moving away, or thrumming her fingers against the back of my hand, she curls her fingers into mine, loosely threading us together as we peer between skyscrapers.

 

I wonder what she was going to say - what she would suggest brings her to the eaves of my penthouse other than this grandiose cityscape.  

 

I think I know better.  But, for now, I am happy to wait patiently.  After all, the Avatar is full of secrets - she'll tell me when she is ready. Though, as I sit with her fingers laced between mine, I can't help but entertain the idea that she already has.


	2. Getting Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between:  
> book 3 & 4  
> monsters & men  
> airwaves & heartbeats
> 
> between Korra & Asami

A childhood bound by four walls - an entrenched fortress hidden away in the depths of the tundra, surrounded by soldiers and mercenaries - obligated a certain level of consistency.  A fail-safe protection guarantee from all external threats. 

Even with such a perpetual state of security, the White Lotus Guard, my bending masters, and sometimes even Katara and Tenzin would traverse the grounds with a hesitant air of caution, as though the very infrastructure of the snow bastion could crumble at any moment.  Once, during a fit of confinement fever, Katara referred to the space as my own iceberg, reminding me that a time would come when the glacier would melt, and all this preparation would ensure I was strong enough to face the world and that the world would be ready to support me.  (I wonder what they think about all that now, knowing the most dangerous threat to the Avatar exists in my own head, let alone within the compound walls.).

I stand and assess the damages to my Earth Nation garb - something I picked up maybe seven or eight villages ago – recognizing that such consistency (and youthful eagerness) now feels so very far away.

 

In many ways, I’ve never felt more connected to Avatar Aang.  Though I am unable to communicate with Raava, and my past lives remain severed, even still, living so nomadically is new.  Hiding my bending abilities according to what nation attire I am wearing is restricting.  Needing to mask my identity as the Avatar is excruciating.  
  
It took me 21 years to finally understand, even marginally, the painful isolation Aang must have suffered through.

  
  
For the last six months, I cannot recall having slept in the same bed for two nights in a row, or having slept in any bed at all for two consecutive evenings.  I travel with only one change of clothes, and a small knapsack to hold them in.  I’ve reduced my entire life to just enough to fit into a compact parcel, and yet I cannot forgo the feeling of the world continuing to weigh heavily upon my shoulders.

But my shoulders aren’t as strong as they used to be, and neither is my reserve.  I find myself falling down more than I can get back up.  Taking more hits than I am able to land.

I notice a few new tears, accompanied by fresh blood stains that will be impossible to remove without water bending.  Even my shoes seem more tattered than yesterday – markedly worn and weary when compared to my previous Water Tribe getup in Republic City.  But regardless of what I am donning these days, each time that I look in the mirror, I recognize myself less and less.  Even my own reflection is morphing beyond what I am can identify.

  
But to say there are no constants stitched into my day-to-day is a falsehood.  Because _she_ is always there.

 

Always.

 

 

 _I sound crazy._  

 

I walk towards a small cafe - a rarity in these parts, especially one open at this hour of night.  I don't have many yuans, but I figure one cup of tea might be key to my sanity.  
  
As soon as the ceramic reaches my hands, I feel my own stiff muscles relax.  The beverage tends to calm my nerves, its warmth seeping into pieces of myself that are no longer accessible to me.  I hear radio static in the background - a young boy is adjusting the antennae, attempting to find an evening broadcast for the cafe patrons.  Soon I hear Shiro Shinobi's voice muffle through the speakers: 

“Welcome back, folks!  It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for - we are airing our special programming featuring Republic City’s Most Eligible Bachelor and Bachelorette!  This is not the show to miss!  Tonight, I am joined by…”

 

I tune out the remainder of the transmission, disinterested in such currency.  I watch as the rest of the café quiets, listening animatedly as the bachelor gives his interview.  I wish I could excite over petty pop culture – have such a lighthearted response to harmless entertainment.

But I’ve learned that a heavy heart is a difficult thing to thin down.

 

Several minutes pass, so distracted by my own loneliness that I almost don’t recognize her voice.

"I am truly flattered Shiro, but I am not sure exactly what – or who – determined me to be eligible.”

My mind races, almost dropping my teacup as realization sets in.

_Is that…?_

_“_ Would you care to elaborate?” Shiro prompts the interviewee curiously.

“Excuse the business pun, but I don’t know that my definition of being ‘on the market’ is the same as what your column suggests.”

There is no mistaking it.  A perfect blend of playful charm mixed with professional poise – a voice so familiar to me that I am shocked to have almost forgotten what it sounds like.

_Has it really been that long?_

I place my teacup on the table, hand shaking noticeably.  It has been almost three years since I have heard this timbre - since my heart was thrown into its current, untraceable rhythm.  I crane my neck towards the radio, for once offering my undivided attention.  
  
Shiro laughs over the radio speakers, the feedback crackling slightly.  “Forgive my deployment of yet another tasteless cliche, but is that your way of telling us that you are still as married to your work as ever?  After all, Future Industries’ stock value would certainly suggest so.”  
  
“There are some hereditary traits a daughter just can't shake, it seems.”  
  
I can feel her smile through the wavelengths, no doubt to prevent any awkward tension as a result of the commentary, but I know even from hundreds of miles away, and even after all this time - it's not one that reaches her eyes.

_I guess I’m not the only one followed by ghosts._

  
I wonder if her haunt ever eased up.  If living two hundred feet off the ground truly helped her evade the hooks and threads tied to her own bloodline, and the nightmares that come with it.  I am not sure how well it worked for her, but I cannot help that my heart pangs at the thought of penthouse suspension making me feel better than I have in three years.

  
“Ah, however, your father possessed only a single job title - a demanding one, certainly, but at only 22 you've managed to all bit quadruple his record.  Owner of Future Industries, co-director of the Republic City Planning Department, hedge fund philanthropist, and..."  His voice quiets a bit, pitch rising slightly.  
  
_Is he nervous?_  
  
“And?”  She pushes gently.  
  
“Remaining a loyal, steadfast member of Team Avatar.”

“Oh yes.  Of course.  It's,” she starts, pausing for a moment, “the most important job I could ever have.”

“Even with no Avatar around to team up with?”

 

I slump at the inquiry and scowl into my teacup, swirling the liquid, contents only half gone.  But I know I’m _more_ than half-gone.  I have not tracked down Raava – I don’t even feel her presence anymore.  I’ve spent the last six months searching, but I can’t find it, or her, or me…anywhere.

There was a point in my life when I would have given anything to escape the White Lotus compound.  But now I have had my chance to traverse two worlds.  And I’ve never felt so alone.

 

“There is a lot to be done in her absence…I will do everything I can to continue the work she started.  And once she returns, I will be there to support her mission as she sees fit.”

“So it's no secret then that the Avatar is M.I.A.  I have heard from reliable sources that not a soul in Republic City has heard from her in months.  Is she corresponding with you?   How can you be so sure that she is going to come back, and hasn't instead run away entirely from her role as an Avatar?”

She glosses over the correspondence probe, which comes as a relief to me.  I roll my shoulders out, unaware I had tensed at the question.

How sad, I think.  To be more concerned about whatever additional pain I could inflict upon Bolin or Mako if announced that I did, in fact, scribe one sole letter addressed to Asami, than to worry over whether or not Republic City has lost faith in its Avatar.  I feel that indescribable weight return to my shoulders, so I stand to stretch my arms into the air, as if trying to eliminate any surfaces for the pressure to rest.

  
  
“Change isn't always the easiest thing to embrace.  But without it, Republic City wouldn't still be standing.  I'll admit, Korra left some huge shoes to fill – trying to meet the needs of the city without an Avatar has been a…challenge, to say the least.”  
  
Another wave of guilt ripples over my back, causing me to shudder.  It seems that no matter how much I distance myself, I continue to burden those closest to me.  Or those that _were_ closest to me, at least. 

Even so, thus far Asami’s responses have been gracious – sparing me any additional slander and political mudslinging.  The press and the name calling bothered me, at first, but now I don’t spare a blink when passing headlines outlining my failure as an Avatar. 

Asami could never be so harsh, it’s not in her nature.  But knowing that I have reaped any modicum of dissatisfaction from the engineer - if I was forced to hear such feedback emerge from Asami’s lips, I don’t know that I could be so aloof and callous to such an announcement.

In fact, it may just ruin me.

 

I feel my chest tighten with anxiety, knowing that a majority of the interview remained left to unfold.  I hurriedly push my chair in, throwing a few yuans on the table as I prepare for a rapid departure. 

_What I don’t hear can’t hurt me._

Unfortunately, Asami’s response comes all too soon.  I am scrambling to put my pack together when I hear her start, so I wince, bracing myself for the reply.

 

  
“But I have trusted Korra with my life, and to protect this city, and she has yet to fail us.  I think we all learned not to question her judgement as a formidable Avatar, and as an admirable woman.  And though I sincerely hope her return comes sooner rather than later, I believe in the Avatar’s intuition, and will continue to have faith in the Avatar’s decisions, and similarly to trust Korra with the future.”  
  
I knew Asami would not be angry, even when possessing every right to be.  But her remarks are even kinder than I anticipated, offering me more comfort than I deserve.  All the tension drips away from my muscles as I feel my backpack strap slip from my hands, my hips leaning against the back of my chair as I try to understand exactly what her words imply.  What it means to entrust someone with a future.

_Wouldn’t three years constitute as a future?  Does she believe there can there be something beyond this torture?  That I can get better?_

My thoughts become more selfish, more desperate, racing into my head faster than I can process them.

_Is she really hoping I will come back to the city?  Or to her?_

  
  
“I know that, no matter what or who she is fighting, she is still fighting our battles for us.  We still need her.”  She pauses abruptly, a rare trip in Asami’s public stride, before she rushes out, “I need her.”

I suck in a sharp breath at the confession.  A few of the café patrons turn to me in confusion, but quickly resume focusing on their scheduled programming – too enthralled by the most incredible woman in the world to pay the shadow of an Avatar much mind.

I unconsciously grip a side pocket in my satchel, running my fingers roughly over a large lump in the enclosure.  I feel the softened corners of envelopes, a knotted rope tied around the cluster of papers.  I know the words etched on them by heart, the Future Industries logo watermarked proudly on the face of each piece of parchment.

_I need you.  I need you, too._

She finishes with, “There's not a day I wake up and forget that.”

“You seem intent on ensuring Republic City doesn't forget, either.”  
  
“It would serve some well to remember the person that saved us from ourselves and our own utter destruction. Twice.”

A cunning jab at Raiko. I would laugh (a first in a long while), but my lungs seem to have swelled and fused together, my chest full of something unidentifiable but so wonderfully familiar.

Shiro chuckles in my stead before replying, “Well, when one is married to their job, such response and efforts would only seem appropriate!”  
  
She has a moment to clarify – a brief spotlight to make sure his comment is not misinterpreted.  Instead, she simply concludes with, “I won't argue with you there, Shiro.”

 

The café lights with discussion – each table opining on what exactly her words could mean.  But even over the hush of the crowd, I find myself dreaming with my eyes wide open.

I long for quiet mornings on tiled verandas.  For moments of clarity.  For the sweet solace experienced when joined by only Asami's company.

 

But three's a crowd - whether it's a reporter or a nightmare.  
  
I peer out the window to find her again, staring at me with eyes I no longer recognize - Raava's elusive power illuminating them in the blackened night.  She raises her hand and curls her fingers, shaking her chains tauntingly before dissolving as if never there.  
  
I feel the tea grow cold beneath my fingers before slinging my backpack over my shoulder and insisting:  
  
"This ends tonight."

 

* * *

 

 

“Well Republic City’s Most Eligible Bachelorette, Miss Asami Sato, I would like to thank you again for your time.  I, along with each investment banker and every 20-something infatuated by your unparalleled beauty-brains, wealth-philanthropy, power-success package, understand how valuable it is!”

“It’s been a pleasure, Shiro, as always.”

I see the red recording light dim as Shiro puts his folder down, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.  I motion to leave, but feel his palm grip my forearm lightly.

He clears his throat briefly, before continuing, “And - forgive me for one last business cliché, but - for what it's worth...I hope the Avatar does, too.”

 

My hand clenches slightly in my coat pocket, fingers wrapped delicately over a letter – no longer crisp, but weathered with multiple reads, car grease stains, and what could only be described as unconditional affection and adoration.

“Do take care, Miss Sato." 

I stand to escape the broadcasting station, my hand stowed in my pocket the entire way home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments were so sweet that i wrote another chapter. oops.
> 
> Thanks again for reading. <3

**Author's Note:**

> This hasn't been proofed at all, wrote it entirely in one sitting so certain to be riddled with mistakes, my apologies. 
> 
> Will be updating my other works soon. As always, thanks for reading. :)


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